


All That Glitters is Not Gold

by Quixotic_Quetzalcoatl



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coup d’etat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-05-28 11:45:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19393471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quixotic_Quetzalcoatl/pseuds/Quixotic_Quetzalcoatl
Summary: A brief glimpse into the internal conflict simmering in Altea culminating in the creation of Voltron. Though Coran never specified the source of ongoing conflict, as Eisenhower wrote, “Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies in the final sense a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed.”





	1. Snow and Ashes

“Melenor, you are stunning,” gasped her husband as he glimpsed her emerging from her boudoir. The royal gown he had lovingly commissioned for her was the latest in haute couture, taking inspiration from the elegance of springtime blossoms. 

She dipped her head as she smiled knowingly, her snow-white tresses cascading over her delicate shoulders. Silvery white locks were a rare recessive mutation, highly valued and imitated, for their beauty and purity. Long, flowing hair had traditionally been a royal symbol of health and prosperity. It had, as of late, become synonymous with the widening gap between the elite and the proletariat. Young noble men and women had started adopting the royal custom to elevate themselves amid the drudgery of war; after all, blue collar workers couldn’t afford to get long hair tangled in machinery or sodden with dirt in the fields. It was forbidden in the military. It was unpopular in construction and mining operations where it interfered with protective head gear. And it was all but unheard of among the poor working class. 

“Aren’t you a little too relaxed, today? I have heard about the eastern uprising on the outskirts of the Capital. It would appear they are demanding more food and provisions.”

Alfor sighed. Fighting wars on multiple fronts was stretching his kingdom thin. He had inherited a plethora of problems from the interplanetary wars ignited by Altea’s ever expanding Hand of Peace. Factions within Altea rose to challenge the alliances he had made, especially with the Galra.

The Purists adhered to virtues of diplomacy and peace, however, they also believed that intermingling with inferior races would dilute their culture. The Altean language was revered. It and it alone was spoken in the northern quartier of the Capital. The Galra, in particular, were the target of their ire, a historically violent people sullied by an ingrained need to breed conflict for honour. Those uncultured thugs had been enemies of Altea for as long as anyone could remember and now they were suddenly expected to welcome them with open arms? Preposterous. Lady Peace could never shake hands with an Iron Fist.

Fundamentalist factions believed in achieving peace at any cost. These were the allies of the monarchy, the magically gifted who flocked to the Capital, richly rewarded for their services toward the Greater Good. Granted their own research citadel, in partnership with Altean engineers and scientists, they were the pioneers of everything from terraforming, to cryogenics, to spacefaring technology. Recent advances in neuroscience, the mapping of and the interface with one’s consciousness had spurred an increase in taxes to fund this historic discovery. 

Downtrodden by ongoing interplanetary conflict, ever increasing taxes, and proportionately diminishing food supplies, Altean workers grew restless and dissatisfied. Clearly, whatever diplomacy the leadership purported to use wasn’t working. They longed for days of old when peace was found in their isolationist world and carefully kept secrets. Did the ancients not use deadly force when aliens encroached upon their doorstep, jealously guarding the alchemical knowledge as told in their children’s tales? Why were they opening their doors to foreigners when they themselves lacked enough to eat? Altea should have been giving peace to itself first before anyone else. Resentment stirred as hunger gnawed. By and large, this was the largest class of Alteans, shunned for their lack of magic, and ignored by the academics. What good was the pursuit of knowledge when lives were at risk?

Melenor’s family hailed from the northern district, and while she grew up with warnings never to trust the Galra, she was able to set aside her reservations when Alfor decided to call a truce with their ruler. She would support her husband in any endeavour, so great was her love for him. While visiting Daibazaal with him to celebrate their newly minted peace treaty, she had been attacked by a disgruntled Galra citizen, infuriated by an alliance with the oppressors. Knocked to the ground, Alfor ran to assist her, but she held up her hand and regally rose to stand. Zarkon promptly called for her attacker’s execution but she stayed his hand. The perpetrator deserved mercy she declared outwardly. Inwardly, however, from seeds of doubt planted during childhood sprung distrust and disgust. Truly, the Galra were everything she had been taught. From that moment on, she coolly maintained a distance from her new allies, only visiting Daibazaal on rare occasions, and sitting as far away from Zarkon at the dinner table as possible. 

“I have ordered emergency rations sent their way, though, this slap-dash solution will not solve our long term problems. That is the purpose of tonight’s meeting with the council. We need to find a solution to the internal turmoil. I realize you hesitate to visit Daibazaal since that incident,” continued her beloved, “so I greatly appreciate your support, darling.”

“Of course, dear. Do not fret. I will be fine,” she smiled sweetly.


	2. Of Crowded Cells and Brash Rebels

The overcrowded detention centre was cold, colourless, and sterile, hedged on all sides by an energy barrier. Dozens of disgruntled and sour young Alteans were crammed together with standing room only, attempting to, but failing to nurse their wounds. The Peace Infantry, a branch of the Altean military, patrolled the eastern district more frequently now, subduing riots with increasingly brutal force. Today was a special situation, however, as foreign dignitaries were expected to arrive in the capital and appearances were of paramount importance. There could be no trace of the prevailing malcontent, uprising, or insurgence to ensure the success of this new treaty. The jurisdiction of the peace officers had been expanded to include civilians, and their prerogative to arrest any suspect disturbing the peace was absolute. To appease opposition, the monarchy had promised to rescind this overreach as soon as the treaty was ratified. 

As compact as the cell was, many of the detainees were repelled by one particularly surly, hulking prisoner and kept their distance. The young man in question was of Altean and Galran descent, though very much Galran in size and appearance. And he appeared to be absolutely miserable.

“Hey,” whispered an unassuming and lanky compatriot, quashing the status quo, “what are you in here for?”

“Merely walking home from the Collegiate,” came the tired reply.

“What? They can’t arrest you for walking.”

“Ever since the rioting started, I have been detained many times without cause. I do appreciate the vote of confidence, though.” Rexus was thoroughly impressed someone was willing to take him at his word.

“So they’re racial profiling, those bastard pecks of degenerate mangy klanmüirls.”

“I’m Rexus,” he smiled, offering his arm in a traditional Altean greeting. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. What are you here for?”

“Heh, I deactivated some of their scout ships and stole their weapons. Call me Trellan. I’m not worried, they’ll let us out as soon as this stupid, fancy meet’n greet is over and those pompous elites all go home.”

Rexus stifled a chuckle. This was a bright, brash, and brazen youngster. He liked him already. Those were state-of-the-art military ships, and not just anyone could take them out. “Colour me impressed. But time is short, Trellan, so listen carefully,” he whispered. “The whole purpose of this little charade is to ID us. They call it detention but it’s actually processing. Once they have our retina scans on file, our careers are over. We’ll be marked with criminal records and they’ll be able to track us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We have, by my calculations, one quintant before they’re set to release us, and we need to get out before they do.”

“But don’t they have you on file if you’ve been caught before?”

“No,” he smiled knowingly, “Come with me.”

“What the ruggle are you doing?” the young rebel whispered fiercely. 

Without answering, his towering cohort crouched down and exhorted him to block the view from the surveillance camera. As Trellan peered behind him, he watched his new friend set to work immediately. Locating the target, he expertly found the hidden panel in the floor and pried it open with a multi tool hidden in his shoe.

“There’s always a failsafe mechanism embedded within the cell in the event of malfunction; these energy barriers may be impenetrable by ordinary means,” he muttered as he reconfigured the circuitry, “but there’s always a weakness. Friend, you’re a thief, can you make a diversion?”

Trellan cracked his knuckles. “Can I? Can clovenheifers say boeh?” Scanning his surroundings and searching his pockets, he found a felt pen. Manoeuvring expertly between people, he purloined a shoe, a brightly coloured jacket, and a couple sweaters, tied them into a messy package and wrote ‘bomb’ on the exterior. Sliding the package unseen onto the floor, he then stumbled over it, and yelped. He simultaneously ripped off one of the homemade smoke bombs he had sewn into his jacket, made of nothing but cloth, sugar, and potassium nitrate, and ignited it by striking his flint and steel toed boots together. As the thick plumes of smoke rose into the air, he cried, “Grogdamnit, there’s a bomb! They’re going to kill us!!” 

Panic ensued as the entire cell block shut down and the barrier dissipated. The stunned prisoners took a moment to realize they were free. As chaos reigned, and people tried to flee toward the exits, Rexus had already grabbed his new charge and dragged him to the ventilation system. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Do you not need to retrieve your belongings? Military grade weapons are not so easily procured.”

Trellan’s face lit up as he mock saluted him “Lead the way, Captain.”

Crawling through the narrow shafts, a hundred questions raced through his mind. If this guy was a student, how did he know so much about the electrical and structural systems of the prison-hold? And just how many times had he been held here? And why did the guards so easily let them escape? What the quiznack was he studying at school? 

As they rounded the corner, his leader motioned for him to stop. They had arrived within view of a surveillance room. With a steady-handed trick shot, Rexus launched a potent hallucinogen into the drinking cup of the sole guard, distracted by the chaos unfolding in the detention room. After a few sips, it wasn’t long before their victim struck out at all the unseen horrors all around him, inadvertently opening multiple cells and disengaging random barriers as he attacked his own command console. 

Continuing along on their hands and knees, taking one meandering turn after another, they finally arrived at the secure storage lockers. Here, detainees would have their identities verified prior to retrieving their belongings, regardless of whether any crime was committed. With each subsequent arrest, another demerit was added to one’s identity code, heavily penalizing one’s social status, advancement opportunities, and acceptance into high society. With such glorification of the bourgeois, and early education in patriotic and loyalist sentiment, it had been a fairly effective tactic until recently, and praised for its primacy over those of lesser species. Did not the pinnacle of Altean virtue rest in the resolution of aggression without confinement, and ancients forbid, corporal or capital punishment? True imprisonment was not considered to exist in Altean society, as rehabilitation was reserved for the most depraved of criminals.

“Psst. Why is this place not heavily guarded? This seems too easy,” Trellan murmured.

“It’s a makeshift detention centre,” came the hushed reply. “They’ve rounded up too many people and are overloaded. Makes it easier for us. There are no guards here. By the way, that was ingenious. Those fools are now encumbered with bomb protocol to evacuate, contain, and defuse and we’ll be able to get out without difficulty.”

“Why don’t we snatch one of their vehicles, then?”

“I’ll do you one better. We passed a locker room on the way here. You dress up as a guard and escort me as your prisoner. There aren’t the usual security clearances because they’ve placed too much faith in those energy barriers.”

“I hate that they’ll fall for it like a ruggled wimble.”

Trellan and Rexus escaped with not just their belongings, but a case load of weapons, ammunition, and a military scout vehicle. As the young Altean revolutionary was driving, he asked, “Hey man, what are you doing tonight?”

“Preparing my lesson for tomorrow? I still have a class to teach.”

“Oh my quiznacking god, they arrested a professor.”

“Associate prof, as I’ve been passed over many times for the position.”

“Oh my quiznacking god, that grogdamn systemic racism makes me sick to my stomach. Without tenure, you can’t advance. You might as well have your retina scan in the system then.”

“No, it would be much worse for me, my friend. I would be sent to rehab.”

Trellan pulled over then, as he was too angry to drive safely. “Quiznack the system,” he cried as he punched the door. “Postpone your lesson prep for a bit. There are some people who are dying to meet you. I’m taking you on a detour to meet the revolutionaries.”

“The revolutionaries? I thought that was just an unfounded rumour!”

“No, my friend, things are about to change forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since presumption of innocence until proven guilty is a foreign concept to the Alteans we saw in vld, it’s probably not a stretch to configure their law enforcement in such a manner. They seem to be an ends justifies the means kinda people, as we see with Oriande, and Lotor, and basically the creation of Voltron, tbh. 
> 
> The maintaining appearances thing is taken straight from Coran who said diplomacy is 70% appearances, and 30% formalities, chit chat and hors d’oeuvres.


	3. Prelude to Parley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a class separation in language, so ‘nack’ is short for quiznack and only used by the lower class. 
> 
> Exus is the Altean letter A
> 
> Lance mentioned Yalexian pearls so I assume they’re molluscs of some kind
> 
> Gruuvwart is a massive Altean toad
> 
> Twick is Trellan’s own creation, a combo of twigs and pock-marks
> 
> Snarflaf was used as an insult in vld
> 
> Coran used the phrase “ruggle your wimble” to mean pulling your leg, but Trellan intentionally uses ruggle incorrectly

“Grogdamnit. I have never heard this particular saying before,” Rexus admitted, assuming it was because he had grown up on Daibazaal with his parents.

“Oh, well, that’s because I made it up. So, you know that inbred, clovenbull pizzle, King Groggery the infirm? The nackwitted dolt the crown bills are named after?”

“Right.”

“His memory is nothing but a swear word now, bro.”

“You... really don’t like the monarchy, do you?”

“Bitch, you have no idea.”

“Is it because his monarchy pioneered the regeneration chambers...”

“And now the iron rule of the oligarchy subjugates the masses by controlling access to medical care.”

“And excessive reliance on elitist magic powers has severely hindered research into new pathogens and biological warfare.”

“Dude, great crankers think alike,” Trellan beamed.

Rex felt like there was more to it than that but he decided not to push. “I still can’t get over how you shut down those hover ships. That’s some grade Exus talent.”

“Oh come on, it’s nothing. You’re not so bad yourself. Making that guard go craaaaaazy to cover your know-how of the place,” he crooned in falsetto. “You’re like always five steps ahead of those slow-witted, Yalexian shits.”

Rexus laughed a deep, hearty laugh. This cheeky rebel calling those spineless guards invertebrates was quite clever. Even if they had nothing else in common, he would have stayed for the humour.

“How the ruggle do you know how to do all that stuff? You know that place like the back of your nackin’ hand.”

“My old man before he got sent to rehab.”

“Oh, rug, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s alright. I grew up on Daibazaal but my Mama missed her home so much we moved back here when I was a junior. Pop had been targeted many times by the peacekeepers and he had trouble with steady employment. Things got so bad he resorted to stealing to keep us fed. That’s when they took him away. I haven’t seen him in decaphebes.”

“That ain’t right. That’s downright despicable and that’s why we’re fighting. We want a better world for our kids to grow up in.” Trellan slammed his fist against the door again. “Not this pseudotopia rife with inequality and injustice. The education system is nothing but lies and pretense. You wanna know something? We’re supposed to be so advanced and spreading peace across the universe. But our governing system is ass nackin’ backwards. Many of the worlds we’ve encountered have superior governments.”

There were a few moments of pregnant silence. So many things to complain about, neither knowing where to start. After a while Trellan said, “Bro, we’re here. Well, actually, we’re at my house. My little sis has to “repatriate” the ship so no one knows we stole it.”

“Don’t those things have tracking systems? Will they be able to trace the location?”

“Nope,” Trellan grinned as he held up the dismantled GTU, global tracking unit. 

“Hey, you trouncy, knackered snarflaf,” called a gravelly voice as they exited the vehicle, “where have ya been?”

“Rexus, please meet my sister, Trellis.”

Before he could even greet her properly, she snarled, “Yeah, I know. I don’t know what our parents were thinking. Oh,” she continued in a raspy, sing-song voice, “let’s name our daughter after the wooden lattices in the orchards.”

The siblings laughed at his reply. “My first question was actually going to be what trouncy even means. I didn’t grow up here so I’m afraid I don’t know all the local sayings.”

“Ehh, I dunno, it’s a cross between bouncy and transmogrifying.”

The two laughed even harder at the absolutely bewildered expression on his face. When they regained composure, they graced him with the unfortunate news that they made up words all the time so they would be absolutely no help in teaching him regional idioms. 

“But you’re not gonna ask us why our names are nearly identical? Good, because we don’t wanna tell ya,” she chuckled some more as she backhanded his arm. 

Rexus felt permeated with a warmth he hadn’t known in a very long time. They treated him as one of their own and didn’t even bother with the stiff but cold formalities he had become so accustomed to. He looked around at his surroundings. Theirs was a very modest home, a quaint little dome shaped-house, furnished with the bare minimum. It was a typical residence of the east side, pedestrian and unremarkable. Yet the underground garage was nearly twice the size of the home and outfitted with cutting edge equipment. Trellis pulled them in as she hid the car as quickly as she could.

“So where’d ya find a scholarly gentleman like this? You’re punching outta your weight class, little bro.”

“Oh my nacking gods, Trellis, I’m not dating him. I mean, it’s not that I wouldn’t, it’s just that, oh for the love of... first of all, I’M the oldest. And second of all, he rescued me from the detention centre...”

“So he’s your warrior in shining armour...”

Trellan was superbly flustered and pulling out his hair at this point. “Uuuugh! No!! I’m trying to recruit him, you twick-plastered gruuvwart.”

“Well, no can do, little bro, meetin’s cancelled. Too many of them were arrested or hiding tonight.”

“Oh,” he replied, absolutely downtrodden.

“But since he’s here, might as well invite your boyfriend for dinner,” she smiled.

“I swear to the nonexistent gods I’m going to kill you,” Trellan fumed, beet red in the face as the other two laughed until they cried. 

Meanwhile, preparations for the summit conference were ongoing as Alfor attended a preliminary meeting with the council of Elders. There were four present tonight, each overseeing a different segment of governance: public enlightenment, military operations, peace enforcement, and science and medicine.

“Executors, welcome,” Alfor said warmly as he greeted each one. “I trust you are all well and that our amenities are to your liking.”

Each of them replied with a formal bow. “Now, I have forwarded each of you a copy of our most pressing matters; a speedy resolution is of utmost importance. With each passing day, the riots have gotten worse in the eastern district and we must elucidate a way to subdue the beast. Emergency rations have been sent their way but it is imperative we find a longer-term solution.”

“Your Highness, I have already authorized expansion of military jurisdiction over the civilian population. Harsher penalties will be implemented in the interim,” Anthery, the military chief of staff replied.

“I appreciate your efforts, Chief,” Alfor started, “but I would really like to move away from the use of brutality. Long have we done away with the violence of the feudalist era. Why are the traditional peaceful deterrents failing?”

“Perhaps I may be of assistance,” Allistan, minister of scientific advancement proposed. “I should require the services of our public enlightenment specialist,” he continued as he nodded toward Edriel. “Our vassals inform us of growing dissatisfaction with rising taxation and insufficient food stuffs. We therefore put forth the following: a novel approach to providing sustenance en masse.”

He motioned for his underling to bring forward a sample plate of an opaque, gelatinous substance with a subtle, pleasant aroma. “Sire, this nutritionally complete meal replacement is harvested from the fastest growing hearty legumes, sea blooms, and kernelings. Additionally it is luxuriously flavoured with juniberry seed extract which is aromatic and calming. I entreat you to consider this proposal to appease the masses. Our tests with lab mice have shown decreased aggression after ingestion, and increased compliance and sedation.”

“Juniberries are edible?” Alfor asked incredulously. “I was always told they were beautiful to behold, but dangerous to consume.”

“‘Tis the dose that makes the poison, my liege. When taken in controlled minuscule quantities it is not only safe, but optimal for cooperation and peace.”

“As long as it is safe, you have my approval.”

“Splendid. Edriel and I shall move onto the second phase of informatics and marketing.”

“What do we do in the interim while this endeavour remains grounded?”

“I have a new therapy proposal for rehabilitation of the unsound and ill of mind,” Ulrich, the Chief Peace Officer replied. “Sir Anthery, may I request the worst of your detainees for observation? I trust you will all be pleased with the results.”

“You are all lifesavers,” Alfor responded gratefully. “I believe that concludes our meeting. I must prepare for the dignitaries arriving shortly and I shall leave peace in your capable hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfor’s laissez-faire approach to maintaining peace and order is based on his approach to creating Voltron. Coran said the lions basically engineered themselves, and Allura said they were based on magic that science alone could not explain. It is treading on my last nerve to have to say that manufacturers of everything from AI to guns are held to task should their products malfunction or cause undue harm. Not understanding intimately exactly how the lions work, not installing failsafes, and equipping rules of usage was a moral failure of epic proportions. 
> 
> Every dystopian part of this Altean society is based on something that has already happened in human history when heads of state became corrupted by power. This monarchy is modelled after those during the Renaissance, where the violence and militarism of feudalistic systems had already toned down and metropolis’ sprang up. Merchants could rise to be as rich and powerful as landholders/ the nobility; and everyone still declared fealty to the king. Warriors in this society are the equivalent to the knights of the Middle Ages.
> 
> Although Alteans supposedly stood for peace and diplomacy first and foremost, their exceptional physical strength, combat skill level imposed on every child, aggression of Oriande sages, and Alluras statement that pink was to “honour the fallen warriors” (specialists in war, as opposed to saying soldiers, troops, or service members) suggested to me that they had a larger militaristic presence than they admitted to. Appearances, after all.


	4. Milquetoast Masquerade

“Oh my, what... why do you have, how did you get one of these?!” Rexus gasped as he rushed to the corner of the garage. It was a deactivated training gladiator. He carefully examined its hardware components and ascertained a minimal level of damage. In fact, he discovered the power supply had merely been severed after he opened the chest plate. “Only the royals and the aristocrats have access to these automatons!”

“And the military,” Trellis spat. “They’ve started usin’em to keep us in order at the riots. Real intimidating. Puts people in their places. They can harm us but we can’t harm them. It’s why they were able to get so many tonight. People lost the will to fight. So I did the best I could, took this one out, and nackin’ kept it.”

“I was unaware they were used against civilians. That is surely a contravention of their terms of usage.”

“It’s not peace they want,” Trellan sighed as he patted the professor’s shoulder. “It’s order. But they either conflate the two, or purposely redefine the former to keep people in check.”

Rex shook his head. “Peace isn’t merely an absence of conflict, you are right. You would not believe how long I have fought to program these droids with robotics laws. To first do no harm to their sentient charges. To prohibit the killing of innocents. If faced with an ethical dilemma, to choose the path of least harm.”

This admission sparked the keen interest of the siblings who were trembling with anticipation. “You... you are a software engineer? With a side of ethics?!” squealed Trellis.

“Yes, I am the one who developed the software for these and many other devices...”

“Wait, what? Everybody knows that Sir Allistan developed...” Trellan stopped dead in his tracks, absolutely deflated. “Wait, you said they passed you over for promotion. Because they stole your code?! So you are still an assistant prof. And he’s now the minister of science... Oh my nackin’ gods, I’ve heard enough.” Trellan was visibly fighting back tears at this point, the injustice was so intolerable.

Now it was Rexus’ turn to console his friend. “It’s not so much what I’ve lost, but what society loses if we continue to allow these fiends to hold all the power. I’ve had a lifetime of peaceful negotiations to upend the status quo. But the societal inertia of prejudice is stalwart and immovable against me. It is why I am willing to join your rebellion for liberty and justice.” He pulled out his communicator to type something.

“Watch’a doin’ now?” Trellis asked.

“Calling in sick for tomorrow. If you will be so kind as to accommodate me for tonight, I have every intention of reprogramming this droid. Trellis, you did exceptionally well to avoid damaging the neural circuitry. This won’t take me long as I already have an ethical programming code that was never approved for use. What we must do before the morning breaks is rescue all of your friends with the help of this bot.”

The look of wild astonishment and elation on the siblings faces was palpable. The tide was about to turn in their favour. Before he was able to send his message, however, both of them stepped in. “Don’t call in sick. That might be suspicious. We need you on the inside; if Allistan has connections to faculty, you need to be our eyes and ears. Fix the bot, and give us an interface to reprogram the other bots. We’ll take it from there.”

After Rex had repaired the power supply and was uploading the new code via a portkey he had in his sac, the three of them sat down at a small workbench to eat their dinner. 

“Pardon my rudeness, but what is this beverage?” Rexus asked as he examined his glass of an opaque, white liquid.

“Oh, you’ve never had milk before?”

“Milk!?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, clovenheifer milk. Very nutritionally dense. People around here have been drinking it for centuries, especially when food is rare.”

“That is surprising, for as far as I know, most Alteans cannot tolerate the galactose. Here’s to finding out the hard way!” he chuckled.

“Then may I propose a toast for your first sip,” Trellan announced with a mock aristocratic accent, “To the Revolution!”

“To the Revolution!” a chorus of happy voices echoed in the garage. 

“And to... hey, what are we going to name the robot?”

“Milktoast, obviously,” Trellis cried.

“To Milktoast!” only two of them replied.

“What are you looking at?” Trellan asked Rex after a while.

Rex narrowed his eyes, having deduced their vernacular gaffe. “Milquetoast means timid. Is that alright with you?”

“Uh, that’s exactly what we meant,” Trellan answered after some hesitation.

He laughed. “I am just teasing. I quite like it.”

“Gotta admit it's better than Alfor, Elnor, Endor, or Gondor,” quipped Trellis.

“I mean, what’s with those royal names? Endor sounds like the name of a moon,” Trellan added. 

“Ugh, and Gondor sounds like a fictional kingdom.”

“Indeed,” Rex replied after his first sip. “This is quite good, by the way!”

“Yeah, man.”

“Are you certain you do not require my assistance tonight?”

“It’s not whether or not we need it. You can’t get caught because we need you. You’re the best chance we have at winning.”

“Then I will do my best to ensure your success tonight.”

“Cheers, bro,” the two said in unison. Things were finally starting to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Cecilia Payne, first woman admitted to Harvard, first person ever to deduce that stars are mostly made of hydrogen and helium. It was a revolutionary finding. Her PhD research was stolen by a man. It’s also dedicated to Rosalind Franklin, who was the first to deduce the helix nature of DNA, also revolutionary, but whose findings are also attributed to men. As well, to the women who made the first moon landing possible, one of whom was Margaret Hamilton, leader of the team who created the on-board computer, and who first coined the term “software engineering.” 
> 
> If the training gladiators had had laws of robotics programmed into them, that training bot wouldn’t have attacked Keith. That Galra crystal shouldn’t have had enough knowhow to completely reprogram it, since according to Hunk and Pidge in S6, Galra and Altean tech were not yet compatible. The training bots were key in setting a precedent for the creation of Voltron.


End file.
